


Gone With the Wind

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dreamtale (Undertale), Angst, Blood, Implied/Referenced Character Death, wink wink, you never know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:09:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21890974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: It's their birthday once more. As is usual, Dream goes back home to leave a present for his brother.This time, however... it's all different and wrong.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 53





	Gone With the Wind

**Author's Note:**

> no, i'm not dead. :') writer's block is really beating me up this time, but i still managed to get this done for the bois' birthday. i can never have enough angst. *insert evil laughter here*

The sky is overcast, devoid of any reassuring light as is usual. Today, however, it feels colder. As though he were walking through a violent snowstorm, the frozen air gnaws at every nook and cranny of Dream’s bones, relentless. He’s not yet sure if that world has indeed grown colder or if he’s imagining things; something feels more wrong than it usually does, and he doesn’t plan on staying for long.

He can never stay long, or the bloodthirsty creatures that used to be the villagers would find him and lunge like a pack of rabid wolves before he even has time to react; he’s made that mistake once, and he doesn’t plan on repeating it. He’s still more wary of his surroundings than usual, and he knows he’s not worrying about those monsters.

A gentle breeze blows through, and it feels warm. Dream breathes it in as he stops by the tree stump, further damaged by time and retaining not a speck of the beauty and grace it once held. He can never help it; images of the Tree of Feelings standing tall and mighty as two little, carefree skeletons run and chase each other around it flash through his closed eyes, and he shuts them tighter.

Even then, as the memories prick at his soul, he smiles.

He kneels beside the stump, eyeing it with soft eyes like the grave it is — at least his mother is no longer trapped there, forever watching the destruction left behind, forever feeling the despair that place had been abandoned with. One hands skims across its rough surface, a greeting to its deceased spirit, another places the colorful bundle of yarn he had been holding in the center.

One of the inhabitants of Lanny’s village, that sweet old lady that would always offer him comfort, be it in the shape of company or sweets she wouldn’t get tired of making, had given him a wool figure of him and his brother this morning, telling him to keep it close to his heart and wishing him a happy birthday.

They were holding hands. Smiling. Carefree. A crystal clear image of the old days; an image that would never return.

He keeps his hand on it for a moment too long, retaining all the joy and comfort it gives him, before letting it go, one more gift to his brother that he needs and deserves them more than he does. The tree stump is already surrounded by little drawings on the soil around it, by flowers he’s found throughout the multiverse, one last attempt not to let it wither in solitude along with the rest of that world.

Dream has never forgotten to bring his brother something, and he never will.

He stands back up, and takes a moment to look at the stump before his time to depart comes. Another smile, bittersweet as it is, creeps in even as he watches the slouched figures of the creatures lurking by. They usually never wander that far out there, but they will if they see him. He’s more scared of them destroying his gifts than he is of having to fight them, and he knows it’s time to go before his presence causes unnecessary trouble.

“…happy birthday, brother.”

_I’m sorry you never had a worthy one._

He only pauses for one more second, his eyes glued to the wool figure, envying those artificial and yet genuine smiles, when the world suddenly slows down.

He stiffens, his chest tightens, and he feels that all-too familiar, unnaturally cold aura just inches away from him.

He’s not prepared.

He lacks the time to turn back; he doesn’t need to, for it’s a scenario too known to him. And yet, he’s not prepared. He’s somersaulted to the side in the blink of an eye, but he still feels the whoosh of air too close to his skull as a melting appendage, sharper than any knife would ever wish to be, buries itself in the ground where he had stood.

He’s barely able to reach for the bow, his balance hanging by a thread, when bone-crushing pressure takes hold of his arm. He only feels himself rocketing through the air for a mere second before he crashes against the ground, and he feels the pain erupt from his elbow before he hears the sickening crack it comes with.

There’s no time to scream, no time to get back up, no time to reach for the bow, no time to realize just how close the mass of negativity is, towering over his pained form; the moment he tries to stand, ignoring the fire that mauls his arm, there’s a black tendril piercing through his chest, inches from his pounding soul.

The world slows down more, more, until it stops spinning around him.

The pain doesn’t register, and even his broken arm is a minor nuisance. There’s a sharp ring in his hypothetical ears and a million thoughts crossing his mind, all incoherent, a wild river of words rushing through his skull. There’s confusion, there’s fear, there’s disbelief, there’s shock — and then there’s _realization_ , unadulterated and merciless.

Somehow, his eyes focus, his hearing restores, and the pain finally crashes into him like a wave. The wicked smile of the creature in front of him still has a bigger impact on him, even though he’s unable to show a reaction. **_“Oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?”_** Nightmare tilts his head, staring deep into his brother’s eyes. **_“Did you really think I didn’t know about your little escapades back here, making yourself all saddening and impotent? What a pitiful show.”_**

He hurls Dream aside as though he were nothing but a torn, useless ragdoll. Dream regrets the moment he takes a sharp breath in through broken ribs, coughing up too much blood for his liking. He lies in a heaving heap at the mercy of someone who has none… and he can’t help the tears.

He tries his best not to show more pain as his eyes dart all around him, searching for the forgotten bow. It’s too far from him to even dream of reaching it in time… but he tries anyway, his only useable arm dragging him across the ground through tireless anguish. Nightmare is pacing around him, waiting, watching, laughing.

He can’t die there.

He can’t.

No.

_No._

**_“It’s funny, though.”_** the dark skeleton continues, making no attempt to stop Dream. **_“What, you think he’s going to come back? You think he’s going to thank you? I thought you already left that world of magic and butterflies and happy endings aside.”_** Nightmare steps closer. Dream is tiring too quickly. He extends his quivering arm, fingers skimming against the treacherous bow, but he can’t grab it. He never stops to think how he’s supposed to use it with a broken arm. He just needs something. _Anything_.

**_“It’s pretty heartwarming, though. You could certainly move me to tears…”_ **

A tentacle wraps itself around his broken ribcage, bones creaking under the pressure, taking him away from the only thing that could ever save him.

**_“Tears of laughter.”_ **

Nightmare breaks into a fit of mirth.

**_“Oh, how pathetic. Anyway…”_ **

Two tentacles, dripping with blood and darkness, rise over the melting skeleton like snakes about to strike, aiming for the skull. Dream pries his eyes off the weapon to stare at death itself in the eye, and his body goes numb, his mind devoid of thoughts. Only one word resonates, over, and over, and over again, one that won’t leave him be, one that sharpens his fear.

_I’m sorry._

_I’m sorry._

_Sorry._

_Sorry._

_Sorry._

**_“Since you’re so desperate about giving your brother gifts…”_ **

Nightmare is staring at the soft glow peeking from the gaping hole in Dream’s chest the same way one would stare at the most precious of treasures. The sickening aura so close to him, enveloping him, suffocating him, makes Dream want to scream, to fight back, to _run_.

But he can’t.

He _can’t._

**_“I think this anticlimactic ending can be excused.”_ **

Dream tries to say something. He doesn’t know what, or why. He just knows that he tries one last time as his energy fades away, helpless even when his frail soul begs him not to let go, begs him to stare that madman in the eye as he smiles wide and his grip tightens. Blood trickles down his chin.

It can’t.

It can’t end.

_Not like this…_

**_“It was nice while it lasted, wasn’t it?”_ **

The wind is howling at them, grieving. It does not deter the melting creature’s smile and laughter; it does not deter the dreamer’s tears and sorrow.

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

****

**_“Happy birthday, brother.”_ **


End file.
